His Duty
by Illusions of Dreaming
Summary: When an unexpected ambush leaves them injured and outnumbered, Arthur will have to make the difficult choice. Abandon Camelot or Merlin?
1. Part 1

**A/N: _His Duty_ is a one-shot separated into _two_ parts.**

 **I'd like to dedicate this story to Merlyn Pyndragon, whose writing and profile had indirectly led me to discovering Merlin and introduced to me the benefits of having a beta-reader. Without her, I would've never dared step out of my comfort zone.**

 **Big, _big_ thanks to wryter501, who helped me fix _a lot_ of things. Without wryter, this story would still be one big, _unreadable_ mess.**

* * *

 **His Duty**

A good king is formed from the values he learned as a boy and practices as a man. A wise king understands that he is as much of a servant to his kingdom as his people are to his words. But most importantly, when the time comes, a great king must always do what's best for the future of his kingdom and people.

Desperation clawed at his throat, terror blinded him, and only the thinnest strand of restraint held it all back. Adrenaline moved him, kept him moving. It was important to keep moving; there were reasons why, but they'd blurred as the overwhelming need to get away, to someplace safe, overrode all clearer logic. He no longer held a rationale for moving, only the feeling that he _must_.

Left, right, left, right, one foot after the other. The mechanical march of armies, the primal, basic instinct that kept him anchored.

 _Everything will be alright. Everything will turn out right… like always._

One leg gave out under the weight of his heavy burden, sliding and buckling as he fell onto his knee. The shock jarred his entire body and rattled his teeth but he halted just in time, his arms pulling taught to prevent the man on his back from sliding off.

A shudder ran up his spine at the close fall, and his grip tightened further around his unconscious companion as he shifted the man more fully onto his back. A breathless bubble of hysteria escaped chapped lips at their ridiculous situation. He, Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, stooped to perform the menial task of a servant.

With a puff of exertion, he regained his feet, the low thunder of pursuing enemy footsteps a faint echo behind them. There was no time for rest; he couldn't stop now, not after the brave sacrifices of his knights to ensure his escape from the unexpected attack. Their only chance at survival in the face of such a large group of Odin's men was retreat; and as much as his heart roared at the injustice, he had to escape to honor the chance his knights had given them. And he _must_ survive because he was the king, the future of their kin. He must survive.

One of them had to make it back to the citadel to warn the others; that was only logic. _Arthur_ had to make it back alive for them all.

But to do so, he was beginning to realize that he faced a sacrifice also.

His foot caught on a root and Arthur fell, but this time he couldn't catch himself quickly enough. The frustrated cry that tore from his lips had less to do with the pain of hitting the ground than the realization of his failures.

As King, he was not required to go on patrols. But the weight of his duties had been slowly piling up and Arthur often found himself craving the vast expanse of the forest. The patrol had been his escape, but what had begun as a simple patrol along their borders turned sour quickly when they stumbled across a hidden campsite in the middle of the forest.

A large group of armed knights bearing the sigil of a growling wolf's head. King Odin's coat-of-arms. The other monarch had sent mercenaries and assassins before, but men wearing his livery could only mean one thing.

Odin's army prepared to march on Camelot.

And now, he had little chance of making it back to the citadel. Odin's men would overtake them soon, torment and murder them before continuing unopposed to Camelot. Arthur couldn't let that happen.

He had to make it back to warn the rest of the kingdom of the invasion. He wanted to save Merlin.

He couldn't do both.

Not in this state. Not while struggling under the weight of an unconscious man. With every second he lost the enemies closed the distance between them. Arthur would have to abandon him, to save himself, his kingdom.

"Why…" A breathless choked cry, as he pounded the ground, half trapped and pinned by his burden as he tried to shift his weight. His hands reached for bony shoulders, digging into flesh as he tried to rouse his unconscious companion.

Their border patrol of eight had been no match for a band of thirty armed knights. And though the enemy had been taken by surprise as well, the archers among them recovered swiftly. Too swiftly.

His knights reacted instantly, swords drawn to cover his retreat. Which might have been accomplished, if not for the slip of his foot. But if he hadn't stumbled _just then_ , the arrow might have found its target in his body. Instead there had been a muffled grunt, painfully clear to him despite the noise of the battle raging desperately behind, and he lifted his head to see Merlin, one arm thrown out towards him – the other hand clutching a feathered shaft in his side. His eyes had glazed with pain, before he tilted over.

Arthur had reacted instinctively, lunging forward to catch his servant's body over his shoulder, careful of the damning shaft impaling his friend. Forced to move or risk being caught, Arthur closed his ears to Merlin's cries for respite and simply kept going, at as fast a pace he could manage.

He would never forget the look on Merlin's face, the first time he'd stumbled, and the younger man had flopped to his back on the forest floor. Merlin's hand was still on the arrow, and before Arthur could help or hinder, he'd drawn it out himself in one quick movement. His body arched off the ground in agony, jaws snapping shut with an audible crack in effort to hold in his cry. His pupils were wide, dilated in pain as his trembling hands brought the bloodied arrowhead closer for study.

A low chuckle escaped his lips that chilled Arthur to his bones and in a tone that was beyond his years, exhausted and filled with another emotion that he only realized later was wonderment. "Poisoned."

"Please." His eyes burned. "Merlin. Wake up." He already knew it was useless; the dark-haired man had long since lost consciousness under the influence of the poison in his bloodstream.

It could have been avoided; he shouldn't have had to choose. He wouldn't have to choose if he hadn't surrendered his duties in the citadel to indulge his desire to escape them.

"I'm sorry, Merlin." He was past the point of letting pride tie his tongue. He had been so foolish.

Merlin, silly, foolish Merlin, who tried to muffle his cry of agony, as if he believed that going down silently meant Arthur wouldn't notice and instead continue on his escape. The thought stung; at Merlin's lack of faith in him and their friendship, but worst of all, it terrified him. It terrified Arthur to witness just how much Merlin was willing to sacrifice for him.

It was one thing knowing about the servant's undying loyalty, another to watch it happen right before his eyes. It wasn't right. It wasn't right at all.

 _Leave me._

He couldn't. He still can't.

 _Run._

Arthur clutched his head, shaking it to get rid of Merlin's haunting voice - even when delirious with poison the servant thought only of protecting him. _Run_ , Merlin had told him moments before he fell unconscious, struggling to breathe through his own froth and blood. _I'm fine you must ru-_

"I can't!" The king roared his agony to the skies, his hands fisting as he pulled Merlin close, crushing the scrawny figure to his chest.

All the teachings of the past, the lessons he learned, the aspiration of becoming a great king for the sake of his people urged him to let go of the burden. Without a leader Camelot would fall. It would never survive another war so soon after the battle with Morgana. Hundreds, thousands of innocents would die and Camelot would be ripped apart, set aflame and burned until bitter ashes were all that remained of a glorious kingdom.

Merlin shuddered.

Immediately Arthur pulled back, surprise and the wildest spark of hope igniting, his name dancing on the tip of his tongue. "Mer-"

He barely caught his servant in time as the raven haired man seized violently, a horrid gasping sound torn from his throat.

"Merlin!" A spray of fresh blood met his cry and suddenly Merlin was struggling to breathe.

 _Oh gods no_. He held the manservant down as a brutal spasm ran through his body, muscles and limbs jerking in awkward positions. _No_ … Even unconscious Merlin was still in pain. Arthur choked back on a sob as his unconscious friend thrashed and twitched on the ground fighting a battle he couldn't join - not this time. _Let it be over please_ , he prayed.

After several watery coughs, full of phlegm and blood, Merlin's body contracted suddenly and Arthur knew what was coming next. He turned the injured man to the side just in time as Merlin retched.

"I'm sorry, Merlin," he sobbed as he rubbed his friend's back, hating the painful sounds coming from Merlin's lips. "I'm so sorry."

The enemies were closing in. Camelot was in danger. Merlin was in pain… Merlin was dying.

The choice was simple.

It always had been.

He couldn't leave Merlin, not like this. Even if he never regained consciousness to recognize his own pain and Arthur's abandonment of him, even if Odin's men never laid one hand on him before he had gone beyond their reach. He couldn't leave Merlin to die alone and in prolonged agony. Or to be captured and subjected to who-knew-what torture for information, before the poison proved too much. There would be no time for rescue; Odin's men would be on him too soon. But Merlin would suffer and die and Arthur would be responsible.

He couldn't wait, either. Not for Merlin's death, or his own capture.

Slowly, painfully, Arthur's fingers grazed over the hilt of a small hunting knife hidden in his boot. The short silver weapon gleamed maliciously under the sun as he reached to cradle Merlin's head gently.

"Camelot needs me," he whispered. Was that his voice? Deep and choked with grief and resignation? Was that the voice of the King of Camelot? "I'm so sorry, Merlin, please forgive me. I'm so sorry," he sobbed, brushing aside raven hair.

He was sorry he'd been such a terrible friend. He was sorry he couldn't do more. He was sorry for his selfishness, that he'd rather Merlin died quickly by his hand than slowly to the poison within his bloodstream.

He was sorry he ever had to choose.

At least there was one thing he could do, for his friend.

"I," he began softly, lifting the blade. _Please_. "Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, hereby release you.. " His voice cracked as his arms shook. _Merlin_. "From your service as my manservant. You pledged your loyalty and offered yourself to serve me and now…" _Wake up_.

"You are free."

With a strangled cry of anguish and sorrow, Arthur brought the blade down and the heavens and earth shook and roared alongside him.

x x x

The heavens and earth were not roaring with him but _at_ him. Before he could react - before he could finish the deed - he was sent flying before a strong blast of wind, the lethal weapon in his hand spinning away into the darkness of the forest.

His back crashed against an old oak and the air in his lungs was knocked out; he fell to the ground gasping in pain. Though Arthur never was happier to be sent flying away.

It was as if a storm had suddenly descended upon the area - the forest that had been quiet and calm just a few moments ago was now being ravaged by winds so strong trees were bending sideways. Darkness enveloped the area and Arthur instinctively looked up to find the sky covered, dominated by a creature he thought deceased.

Even though years had passed since their last encounter, the great - supposedly dead - dragon was still as magnificent and terrifying as before.

With one great sweep of its wings, trees around the area felled, upended from the ground. The roar that echoed through the area shook the ground itself before the ancient creature landed with a crash, sending clouds of dust and debris into the air.

Coughing and shielding his eyes, his heart leapt to his throat when Arthur realized just how close the dragon was to crushing his friend's immobile body. In the silence that reigned for seconds that lasted too long for him, their eyes met, glowing amber against murky blue and for a terrifying moment the dragon almost seemed contemplative.

But the moment of fragile peace was broken as the dragon's maws opened and Arthur's cry of anguish was swallowed up by the roar of flames that erupted from the monster.

He was thrown to the ground as it shook with the beast's howl and waves of heat rolled and pressed against him. He knocked his head on something and a flash of pain ripped through the side of his temple. The world slowed before his eyes and he watched a parade of Pendragon colors blaze to life, dancing proudly amidst greens and blues. Shaking his head, the king managed to get up on his elbows, the effort sending lashes of pain tearing through his consciousness.

The tears on his face remained refreshingly cool and wet against the breath of the dragon now unleashed on the forest. A ceremony of fiery colors leaped in his vision, slowly eating away his surroundings. Softly, hauntingly, echoes rose from the inferno, an eerie song of death building up in crescendo. They were screams, he recognized, belonging to the enemies that had been chasing them. Now burning.

Yet despite the destruction around him, not a single hair on his body was singed. The fire had miraculously missed them both.

As his vision cleared, he witnessed what could only be explained by the use of magic. The forest had turned into a sea of flames - he swallowed down bile as he made out several flailing figures falling to the inferno - but fierce as the fire roared around them, it never crossed a certain line. An invisible barrier held it back, forming a clean circle around them, keeping those within safe from the dragon's wrath.

Before he could wonder at the miracle, the great creature began to move, turning its attention towards the prone body by its curled claws. Terror like no other gripped his heart, pushing him into action as he ran, unsheathing his sword in one smooth move to stand over his friend.

"No!" he yelled, hovering over his unconscious servant, his sword angled defensively towards the massive creature. "Leave him alone!"

What _was_ he doing? What could one sword hope to do against a hide that had once withstood hundreds of Camelot's best? The creature wouldn't understand him and even _if_ it did, why would it cooperate? This was the same magical beast that brought chaos down on Camelot in the past and had easily done again to his enemies this day. If it so pleased, it could crush them with one foot.

The great dragon lowered its massive head, slitted pupils narrowing at him. There it was again, an expression of sorts crossing its face. But that wasn't possible. Monsters didn't feel. He retreated closer to Merlin, watching with a sinking heart as its lips peeled back, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth.

"Leave him?" The dragon's words boomed around the area over the roar of the flames, shocking the king from his trepidation.

Looking up, he came eye to eye with the dragon as its breath washed against him, hot and dry. Arthur swallowed thickly, buckling under the judgment in the creature's eyes, but unable to look away. But instead of fear and anguish, it was hope that suddenly swelled within him at a sudden understanding.

 _It speaks._

A hysterical laugh slipped from his lips, as Arthur bowed under the overwhelming sense of relief washing over him. If their situation was not so dire, he would've thought himself mad. The joy of hearing words from the creature's lips meant one thing. It didn't matter that this creature was supposed to be dead. It didn't matter said creature had diminished his enemies in one breath and could easily do that again to them. At that moment, one thing and only one thing mattered to him. The dragon _speaks_.

That meant it could be reasoned with.

His grip tightened on his sword. The fire had missed them. Where their enemies burned they survived; it must be a sign that they still had a chance. He snuck a glance at Merlin's pale face, fighting down the futility clawing up his throat. If he could stall the dragon's fury he could still make sure his friend died a dignified death. He would not let Merlin fall into Odin's hands alive, nor would he prolong his agony. Somewhere within him he discovered strength again, and the King found himself straightening, lifting his head he addressed the magical beast.

"Your grievance is with me, great dragon," he announced and a flicker of elation passed through him when the dragon paused, listening. "My father and I have wronged you in the past." Images of flames and wreckage leaped to his mind. Arthur swallowed slowly, glancing at Merlin's weakening breaths, "However, Merlin here is innocent, and he's dying." His voice broke slightly as he blinked away the tears threatening to flow again. "Exact whatever revenge you want from me, my only request is that you'll leave Merlin alone."

Merlin was suffering because of him. If it was destined that neither was going to make it out of the forest alive, then the least Arthur could do for his friend was to make sure he'd still have an un-mutilated body to be found and buried.

"It is not me, Pendragon, he needs protection from."

It was as if the dragon had taken a spear and rammed it through his chest with the words it uttered; the irony was devastating. Arthur hung his head, thoughts of what he had been about to do, what he had _almost_ done, flashed vividly through his mind. His throat closed and his stomach twisted with nausea as he recalled the determination, the resolve, how close he had been to-

"It was _for_ him." He whispered, his words landing on deaf ears. In the end, he hadn't been able to complete the act. As much as Arthur wanted an end to Merlin's suffering, he was perversely glad the dragon came and interrupted when it did.

"Him or yourself?"

The question burned him and Arthur blinked back his tears angrily as his jaw worked. _For Camelot_. The obvious answer rose to but never left his lips as his shoulders trembled with the effort of holding in his emotions. _Always. Always for Camelot_.

"Both." He breathed. " _Both_."

He had lifted the blade for Merlin, to end his torment, though a dark part of him would always wonder how much was because he couldn't bear to listen to Merlin's sounds of agony anymore.

But it was also true that he had lifted the blade to _murder_ , to save himself and Camelot. Even though he knew, the moment the knife pierces through Merlin's heart, some part of him, will irrevocably die with his friend. He had chosen his people. The weight of his role had never been more devastating, his crown never harder to bear.

The ground rumbled with the dragon's inhalation, and Arthur's breath hitched roughly in his throat. He never should've left the castle, he thought again, as the faces of those he left behind flashed before his eyes. He was exhausted and his heart was so, _so_ sore. The world narrowed to the crackling of the dying forest in the background and Merlin's fluttering breath.

"Please." His voice shook as the dragon's jaws parted. "Please."

Heat surrounded him as the dragon breathed out. Pain radiated from his body, but to his surprise the burning was not as agonizing as he'd expected it to be. The discomfort seemed centered around his knees and palms, the places he'd fallen most often when he had been carrying Merlin's weight through the forest. Then it came to him, why the feeling felt so familiar. It was the slow ache of healing.

Dazed, he blinked through his tears to witness a cut on his hand slowly scab over, peel and disappear altogether. The flames - if they could still be called that truly - settled over them like fog, translucent and light. It did not carry the burn of real fire nor devastate the living. It passed through healthy flesh as if passing through air, and seeped into wounds to close and heal them.

Numbed with shock and confusion, Arthur turned his attention to Merlin. He watched as the ghostly pallor that had clung to Merlin's features for so long, slowly lifted away, returning color to the gaunt face. Merlin's labored breaths slowly eased into a slow, even rhythm, no longer plagued with illness. Blindly, he crouched, reaching for Merlin's pulse - just in case - and found it steady, though soft. _Safe_.

The emotional storm within was blown away, leaving him bone-wearied and tired but soothed by an immense sense of relief and joy. Merlin was going to survive.

"Why?" he whispered.

The golden eyes regarding him were stern and strict, and held not a single trace of kindness or generosity reflecting the miracle it had performed. When the dragon spoke, its voice was dry and dark. "Do not be mistaken, it was not for your sake."

Arthur's throat worked dryly, swallowing past the lump of emotions as he held onto Merlin's pulse like a lifeline.

"Thank you," he rasped. Because even though mortals like him could never hope to understand the motives of the mystical, the great dragon chose to spare them today and that was enough.

The ground rumbled as the dragon shifted, spreading its massive wings like an opening canvas. "There are still many things you do not understand young King. I have waited a thousand years for Albion to rise, I will not let your negligence ruin it." It paused, looking at Arthur.

"One day, you will acknowledge your other half. Only then, will the kingdom truly prosper."

Without another word the great dragon took to the air. The action unleashed gale winds sweeping through the forest, extinguishing the flames, the magical fire snuffed out like blown out candles.

Arthur watched as the creature became all but a dot in the sky and disappeared completely. Then he sat.

He sat, at the abandoned clearing, fallen trees and enemies surrounding them, Merlin still unconscious by his side. He wasn't sure how long he stayed there, looking at Merlin, feeling the pulse grow steadily stronger under his fingertips. Feeling his breathing even out and deepen.

Safe. They were safe.

After all they'd been through, no one could blame the king when he finally dropped to the side, giving into exhaustion under gentle birdsong weaving through the air.

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 **So... I'd love to hear your opinion on the one-shot so far! :D I would blab a lot more here but I guess I'll leave it for later!  
**

 **The second part will be posted within two days, until then, stay happy!**

 **~IOD**


	2. Part 2

Swathed in darkness in the silence of his room, his only companion was the stream of moonlight trickling in from open windows and the fading sounds of celebration echoing in the air.

Camelot was safe.

A larger contingent of knights had found them not long after Arthur passed out, having been sent to search for the king when the return of his patrol was delayed. Upon regaining consciousness and the safety of the citadel, the King sent out another force to sweep the area of the dragon's attack, making sure none of Odin's men were left – and none were forthcoming to continue an invasion, either.

Camelot was victorious. The kingdom was thrown into celebration, honoring the lives that were lost and praising the king's wisdom that had saved them again.

It sickened him. The irony didn't escape him, either, that their victory was in large part due to the dragon's intervention. The enemy of my enemy, he supposed. So he had abandoned the celebrations that only dug into his conscience over and over again, retiring to his room alone.

The chamber door opened and closed softly, causing Arthur to look up from his position with his head in his hands. In the darkness it was hard to see who his visitor was but he had a hunch. There was only one person who would enter a King's room without knocking after all.

Arthur straightened slowly in his seat, taking in the sight of his servant as he approached.

Merlin still looked horrible. The glow from the candle he carried emphasized the dark bruises under his eyes, and his sunken cheeks. His skin had lost its healthy tint, now pallid and bloodless. The dragon had eliminated the poison from his bloodstream, but the ordeal had taken a lot out of Arthur's servant. It had been touch-and-go on their journey home; Merlin had stopped breathing once, but a thump on the back had him coughing and gasping again, much to the relief of the patrol and Arthur. But he'd remained unconscious and unmoving for a few days, until his fever finally broke. He really should've been resting in bed, not here smiling at Arthur.

"I hope you're not attempting to think again, I don't think your thick skull can handle it." Merlin smirked softly, turning to light the lamp at his side.

Arthur kept silent, watching as Merlin went around illuminating his room by sharing the fire in his hand. He noticed how Merlin favored his left side, where the arrow had wounded him. "You should be resting." His voice was tense.

Merlin blinked, a picture of perfect innocence were it not for the pained grimace he couldn't quite hide. "I'd never thought I'd hear you complain about me doing my job," he scoffed lightly, blowing out the candle. He reached for a discarded tunic on the floor, but a soft grunt left his lips as the motion pulled on his stitches. Without pause he straightened, abandoning the shirt and opting to fluff out a pillow instead.

Arthur frowned. "Go back to your room, Merlin." It was not a request.

"When have I ever listened to you?"

"Merlin."

"Arthur."

"I'm serious, Merlin."

"You're always so serious it's a wonder anyone likes you, least of all Guinevere. Honestly-"

"Merlin!" Without stopping to think about a motion so instinctive, he threw the empty goblet from his table at the servant, a second before regret and horror hit him.

Merlin's gasp of pain was like a knife through his heart, and the king bolted up from his seat at the table, crossing with two strides to support Merlin gently by his arms. "Merlin?" Apprehension laced his voice as he tried to gauge his servant's expression, silently cursing himself for his thoughtlessness.

"I think I know my name, sire," came Merlin's reply, weak and breathless. Guilt coursed through the king and he closed his eyes to compose himself.

"Come on," he said softly, and with surprising gentleness led the servant to his bed and sat him down on it. He waited as the pain and disorientation cleared from Merlin's eyes before slowly releasing his steadying grip.

"It's alright, I'm feeling fine now."

Arthur's expression clearly told what he thought of that statement. He assessed Merlin just as he felt Merlin do the same. There was no irregularity in his breathing; though tired, his eyes were clear, not glazed with agony or delirium. Alive, breathing, a little worse for wear but not dead. Arthur couldn't quite suppress the shudder and looked away.

"Arthur?"

The King stiffened, standing up as he walked to his table. "Go back to your room."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Haven't we been through this already?"

His hands clenched by his side, he whirled around to pin his servant with his best menacing glare. Many foes had quaked and quailed under this gaze but Merlin sat unfazed, blue eyes calm as if he knew despite Arthur's moods, he would never truly hurt him.

Merlin's devotion and confidence _hurt_.

Sensing Arthur wasn't going to say anything soon, Merlin spoke, leveling him with a look that he didn't understand. "You've been acting weird ever since we came back."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Arthur said dryly, through clenched teeth, turning away once more.

Of all times Merlin could have chosen to be observant, it had to be now. The conversation was steering towards dangerous territories, uncovering bitter memories he had put in chains in the deepest, darkest vaults of his consciousness. The king would never admit it out loud, but Merlin's near-death experience had scared him. His nights back at Camelot had been restless at best; too often did he wake with a silent scream stuck in his throat, believing his hands were coated in Merlin's lifeblood, rather than his own sweat.

His dreams showed different events from the past playing over and over again. However, the dreams all seem to share one thing in common - no matter what Arthur did he would always somehow end up causing or quickening Merlin's death.

Arthur couldn't just sit and wait for his fears to be realized. He knew he must prevent them from landing in the same situation ever again because he knew in his heart, if he was forced to choose between his best friend and his kingdom again, the result would be the same.

In the end it had all came back to this. Arthur could no longer trust himself around Merlin. Merlin was a good man but too stubborn for his own good. Many times had he proven his worth and loyalty equal to that of a knight's - unfortunately, it was sorely misplaced. And as long as it stayed misplaced, Merlin would be dragged into all kinds of trouble and his luck would run out eventually.

Arthur swallowed the lump of emotions in his throat, gripping the edge of the writing desk for support. He couldn't simply wait for that day to come. He wouldn't.

"You're fired." The crisp words sliced through the air, cutting the silence like a sharpened sword. He realized, belatedly, that in the end it didn't matter. He had already released Merlin from his service that day in the forest, whether the man himself _remembered_ it or not.

There was a second's pause.

" _What_?" Merlin's incredulous tone would've been amusing any other day but Arthur couldn't afford to waver, not this time. "I didn't even do anything!"

 _No, you didn't_ , he thought wryly. _Not this time_.

He shook his head. "You're better off serving another master." His tone was clipped and impassive, bordering on cold. He would send his friend away, if only to protect Merlin from himself. As much as he valued Merlin's friendship, the thought of his friend's death was unbearable.

"No."

Arthur turned around, mouth parting angrily, but before he could get a word in he was interrupted by Merlin again.

"I will not leave." Merlin was standing, staring defiantly at him. "Even though you can be a condescending, supercilious, ungrateful, arrogant, pompous clotpole…" Merlin heaved, as if his rant had taken his remaining breath - it probably had. "I trust you."

 _I trust you._

"Trust?" Arthur repeated hollowly, dazed.

Stupid, clumsy, loyal, self-sacrificing Merlin.

Arthur's thin restraint snapped as fear-induced rage bubbled to the surface, control of his volume slacking. "Well, you can forget all about that! You shouldn't trust me, you can't trust me!"

"What are you talking about-"

He threw up his hands. "Are you really mentally impaired Merlin?" He relished the flicker of frustration that passed through Merlin's eyes, boosting his confidence as he pushed on. "Or are you really that stupid? I'm King, I have a kingdom to mind! I don't have the time nor can I afford to give my trust to anyone, least of all a mere servant!" His guilt drove him forward, his words tossed out to hurt, his anger there to intimidate and scare.

"Now tell me, Merlin," he growled as he stood face to face with his servant. "Would you still trust someone who would willingly kill you to save himself?"

That's it. Merlin should understand now. Why he should run as fast and far away as possible. He's not safe. Not with Arthur.

But instead of the fear, uncertainty, or even hesitation he was expecting, Merlin's expression slowly relaxed as understanding crossed his eyes. His expression turned serious and Arthur stepped back unintentionally.

"I have." Merlin said softly, blue eyes never leaving his, speaking volumes. "And I still do."

The truth dawned on him and Arthur staggered, his back hitting the edge of his table as his eyes widened in disbelief. A range of emotions passed over his face. Shock, horror, fear. "What?" he choked hoarsely, shaking his head in denial.

Was Merlin saying what Arthur thought he was? Arthur's eyes frantically searched his friend's expression, desperate for something to prove him wrong.

 _Lords no. Please. Don't let it be true._

Merlin held his gaze steadily and answered calmly. "The poison was strong but there were moments when I was conscious."

The blood from Arthur's face drained away and he swayed in place. "W-why didn't you say anything? When.." Merlin had been conscious. When had he been conscious and how long had he stayed that way? How much did he know what Arthur had been about to do?

" _How long_?" he shouted, ignoring Merlin's flinch.

Merlin's silence was all he needed to know the answer. _Long enough_.

Arthur felt sick and what little he'd managed to swallow at the feast was making a desperate bid for freedom. He staggered weakly to his chair and dropped into it. Merlin had been conscious. He had been aware of Arthur's struggles, he'd known when Arthur made the decision. Merlin had been awake when Arthur lifted his hunting knife ready to plunge it through his ribcage.

His thoughts whirled, but it wasn't until his vision blurred that the king realized he was crying. "Why didn't you tell me, why didn't you say anything?" He remembered the desperation and fear so clearly now. If he'd known Merlin was awake… If he'd checked…

"Because you would've hesitated had I alerted you." Merlin crossed to his side, kneeling to meet his lowered eyes, daring to touch him gently. "Your resolve would've crumbled."

Arthur knew this, he knew what Merlin said was the truth. But he hated it. He loathed it so much. He shrugged off Merlin's hands. "How could you! I was- I had been-"

"I know."

"No!" He grabbed Merlin's shirt, pulling him close, trying to make him _see_. "You don't know! I was about to plunge a knife in your heart! I was going to sacrifice you!"

"To end my suffering."

"To kill you!" Arthur yelled.

His servant gave him a sad look, his hands reaching up to gently pry the king's grip from his shirt. "Had your hesitation lasted longer the enemies would've been upon us, you would've been captured or worse and Camelot would've fallen. Compared to the hundreds and thousands of lives in Camelot I'm noth-"

"Don't say it!" Arthur hissed, "Don't you _dare_ say it!"

Merlin's gaze softened. "Arthur," he said gently, as if lecturing a small child. "You are king, your duties to your kingdom will always come first, no matter what happens, and I accept that. If by staying silent I can help, I'll gladly accept it."

No. He won't acknowledge it, and he'll _never_ accept it. "You don't know what you're saying."

"Your duty is to protect Camelot and my duty is to protect you," Merlin said simply.

Arthur laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "You're not a knight, you're just a servant. You're not pledged to give your life for mine."

Merlin smiled. "Indeed, but as your friend I am."

The emotions closing his throat became too much, and Arthur couldn't dignify that with a proper response. He buckled, putting his head down in his hands as his shoulders began to shake with silent sobs, his breathing turned ragged and broken. Through it all, Merlin was there, kneeling with him, an anchor that centered him. That night he cried because of fear and guilt, and he cried because of relief. The King, Arthur Pendragon, Merlin's friend, _cried_ \- because in the end, Merlin lived.

It took a while before his sobs turned silent, and even longer for him to finally look up.

Merlin was there smiling that awful smile at him through his own tears. "I know you can't bear to part with your chair just yet, but my knees are starting to hurt."

Arthur sniffed, dry amusement that couldn't quite break the heaviness in his heart. He would never truly understand or accept Merlin's reckless selflessness, but he thanked whatever higher power there was watching over them that helped them through another difficult trial to see another day.

"You're such a girl's petticoat." The familiar insult was without its usual heat as Arthur stood, helping Merlin up at the same time.

He met Merlin's eyes seriously. "Thank you, Merlin."

The man blinked but it wasn't long before a pleased grin replaced the surprise. "For what?"

 _For helping me, saving me, being my friend. For surviving_. "Nothing," Arthur said, hiding a small smile at Merlin's indignant expression.

It was a long while before the King of Camelot truly forgave himself, and even longer before his nightmares of the event ended. But despite the loud bickering that resumed, people in the castle knew the bond between the King and his servant had never been stronger.

 _End_.

* * *

 **And that's it! It's done!  
**

 **You wouldn't believe how long it took to get _His Duty_ published here - not that the process of posting it on Fanfic itself is hard but the process of taking an _idea_ that wouldn't stop bothering me for _months_ and turn it into an acceptable written piece is harder than everything I've done so far! (Exaggeration... a bit maybe. But you get the point.) Especially when handling a one-shot with emotionally heavy scenes - writing them felt like I was pulling my own heart out each time.**

 **I hope I did it justice though. And if the story worked and touched hearts the way it's supposed to, well, my mission is accomplished.**

 **Once again, a big thank you to this story's beta-reader, wryter501, because otherwise you'd be reading a really boring oneshot.  
**


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